


Keeping Time

by capalxii



Series: Longer prompt fills [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Bondage, Dominant Clara, F/M, Face-Sitting, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Smut, Submissive Twelve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capalxii/pseuds/capalxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anon prompt: "The Doctor is horny as hell and must relieve it has soon as possible, so Clara there to assist the best she can. NSFW please." Did a bit of a twist, it's Clara who's put him in such a state & she doesn't assist so much as she draws it out a little longer.  Complete smut. Deepest apologies for the final lines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Time

He tried to jerk away from her touch. “I did tell you not to get started without me,” she said.

“Sorry,” he sighed, though he sounded more sorry for the state he was in than the fact that he hadn’t waited for her. Clara very nearly felt bad for him, because it was a pretty sorry state: spread eagle on the bed, rope looped around his wrists and ankles, holding him open to her. Pillows piled under his hips, raising them up just enough. Hard, leaking precome, his chest and cheeks flushed pink and face slack even as his eyes held some kind of deep tension. “Tried not to.”

Clara knelt between his legs, slowly pushing a finger inside him. “Impatient,” she murmured; her other hand barely brushed against his cock, and he flinched, knowing he wasn’t supposed to come yet, that he wasn’t even supposed to have been hard when she’d walked in. Just the tip of her finger lightly trailing against the underside of his cock was enough to set him pleading for relief, but she only asked, “What, does time pass too slowly for you?”

“Yeah. Clara—I need to come-”

“No you don’t.” Two fingers, then, and her other hand taken away, removing even the little bit of touch he’d been granted earlier. She knew how to get him soft again, how to get him frustrated and start the whole thing over, though it would take some time. “What do you need to do?”

He was silent, except for his breathing, alternately licking his lips and biting them. “What I’m told.”

“And why are you in such a mess right now?”

His voice had gone light, almost like he was drowsy, half asleep, though she knew that he couldn’t be anything but hyperfocused. “Because I didn’t do as I was told.”

“And how long have you been like this?” The Doctor blinked, frowned, bit his lip again. It had been a while, with her working him up only to stop him from coming at the last moment, more than once. More than twice, really, and she'd had to take a break in the midst of it. But he’d lost track. It was exactly where she liked to pull him, so far out of his head that the man who held such natural, instinctual control over time could lose track of it. He groaned softly as she pulled out, confused at the sudden emptiness. She just needed more lube. He was still too tight for what she wanted to do next.

After sliding three fingers inside of him, it was easy enough to work a fourth, stretching him as she pushed slowly until her knuckles were in. “You all right?” she asked.

“Good,” he said. He looked good enough, still hard but not quite as hard as before, eyes drifting shut and brows twitching into a frown when she tried to spread her fingers.

The day she found out she could focus that big brain of his on one thing, single-track his multi-track mind, had been a fairly good day. Actually seeing it as it was happening—she’d be one-track soon enough if she weren’t careful. Sometimes he needed a good taking apart, and sometimes she needed to be the one to do it, to let him hand that power over to her and to shut him down. Her thumb went in, finally, and he gasped, arching, as she managed to get in all the way to her wrist. He was slick enough, no longer tight, and his body seemed at once tense and unknotted.

In short order, it wouldn’t be enough—without some kind of movement, his mind would start to wander again—but he’d gone soft with her whole hand inside of him, back to where she wanted him. After keeping him on edge for so long, stroking his cock slowly and deliberately but denying him release, she had him ready to start all over again, focused on only what they were doing and on whether he would be allowed to finish by the end of it. Even trying to make a fist seemed to send him out of his head, pulled a groan out of him that tapered into a whine, a mumbled, “It feels so big, Clara you feel-” that cut off when she straightened her fingers out.

Just a little bit more, and she pulled out completely. The Doctor peered down at her with a nearly heartbroken look on his face. “I’m still here,” she whispered. She wiped her hand on the washcloth next to her, then crawled up his body to kiss him. 

He was completely focused on her, on what she would allow him; she straddled his chest, savoring the feel of his skinny body between her thighs, held onto the headboard and lowered herself until her clit was barely a few inches over his mouth. He’d strain for it, he always did, and when she thought he’d suffered enough for a taste of her—when she couldn’t hold herself up any longer—she sank down further, letting herself get lost in the feel of his tongue on her. Grinding against his face when she felt like it, a hand gripping his hair tightly and holding him in place. It didn’t take long for her to come, not when she felt no need to hold off or be polite or not use him like her own personal plaything.

And knowing him, he would be hard again. She sat back against his chest, the grip on his hair loosening into something gentler, a stroke or a pet or something where her hand ended up cupping his cheek and her thumb ended up rubbing against his lower lip. She glanced behind her, and sure enough, his cock was laying stiff against his belly. She smiled down at him. “Do you want my cock?”

He nodded and kissed the palm of her hand. “Yes ma'am.”

Clara was quick about it, cutting him out of the ropes with shears rather than untying, letting him help her with her harness and slicking up instead of trying to do it herself. On his back, his hand on his cock—they’d talked about this, he was allowed once she was in him—he let himself be folded over, his legs on her shoulders, as she pushed in. He looked as lost as she’d ever seen him, and as focused, one part of him trying to hold out for as long as possible while the other worked in desperation.

She knew he wouldn’t last long, and he didn’t; it had been too much stimulation, for too long, his whole frame tensing up as he choked off a cry and spilled onto his stomach. Slowly, when he collapsed back on the bed, she pulled out. Slid the harness off, took it to the bathroom to clean up later, came back with a washcloth for him and lay down next to him. “You okay?” she asked.

He picked up one of her hands and frowned at it. “How is it—I don’t understand.”

She looked at her hand in confusion. “Don’t understand what?”

“Your hands are so small, but it didn’t feel it when you—er, did the thing.”

The corners of her lips quirked up as she tried to contain a smile and failed. “Yeah. It’s bigger on the inside.”

The Doctor stared at her with the dirtiest, most personally betrayed glare, threw her hand back down, and sulkily wiped himself clean as she cackled beside him.


End file.
